Sequins for Spring
by harinezumiko
Summary: Manjoume accidentally stumbles across one of Fubuki's niche interests when returning to their shared apartment early one morning.
1. Chapter 1

Jun Manjoume was having serious difficulties. Either his door key had expanded in the unseasonal spring heatwave, or the lock had shrunk. He concentrated hard, pushing the key to the plate, twisting it this way and that, but succeeded only in marking the metal. It had been a long night of drinking with his manager and sponsors and he really didn't need to be dealing with this right now. All he wanted was his bed.

The door opened. Registering that this wasn't his doing, Manjoume readied himself to apologise for waking up his flatmate, when he realised how perky Fubuki looked, still dressed in his day clothes. The smell of coffee radiated off him.

"You're still up?" said Manjoume, walking past (through) Fubuki and collapsing thoughtlessly on the couch. His eyes slowly focused on the picture on the television. A pretty woman in an improbably large and shiny dress appeared to be singing passionately to the gathered crowd, although there was no sound.

"Yeah," said Fubuki, picking up his headphones and plumping himself down next to Manjoume. "It's just started, so I'll be awake for a couple of hours yet. If the light bothers you in your room I can watch it in mine."

"What is it?"

"The Eurovision Song Contest."

Manjoume drew a blank. "Never heard of it."

"Countries from all over the world, it's supposed to be Europe but they had Australia a couple of times, send a song to represent their country." Fubuki grew animated, gesturing with his hands. "There's a massive celebration of love and peace and music for a week and whoever wins has to host the next competition."

It sounded dumb to Manjoume, but he was willing to countenance any interest of his master's at least once. "Is Professor Cronos thinking of entering you as a graduate from the idol course?"

"I wish!" Fubuki laughed. He held up an earbud to Manjoume and pressed the other into his own ear. Manjoume yawned, but accepted. He enjoyed the occasional close moment with Fubuki, even if he would pay for it in tortured self-analysis afterwards. Fubuki's hair tickled Manjoume's cheek as the short cable forced their heads together.

The lady on screen was just finishing, her high note slightly off-key, but the crowd were applauding and shouting regardless. Her dress seemed to be a different colour than when Manjoume had first seen it.

A vignette cut in, panning across mountains and forests, wolves running, finally landing on a group of tall, dark-robed, long-haired elvish creatures, engaged not in summoning a demon but playing a simple card game. Of course, in Manjoume's experience, the latter could lead to the former.

Fubuki explained quietly. "They introduce the group and the country they're from before each performance, while they're setting the stage. I've got the UK stream on, I understand a bit more English than Finnish, let's say, but the comments can sometimes be a bit mean. The British have this thing where they hate Europe and Europe hates them but they still show up to every party."

"Sounds like a duel commentator I know." The Finnish druids had taken the stage, performing a surprisingly upbeat song on electric violins, accompanied by a strange whirling dance. "It's not terrible, but is it really the best they could come up with?"

"Not at all!" Fubuki laughed. It was soft, but Manjoume could feel his shoulders shaking. "You don't win just with the song. You win with the whole concept. The act, the outfits, the staging, the message… There's some countries that don't want to win, apparently, because hosting it could bankrupt them, so they send something really weird to try to put people off voting for it."

"Then why enter at all?" Manjoume yawned again, his eyelids drooping, and let his head flop onto Fubuki's shoulder.

"And miss all this?" It was snowing on stage now. Fubuki put his arm around Manjoume and leant back on the couch to get more comfortable. "You know, you smell a bit boozy. You should probably get to bed."

"I can sleep here." The next song was a ballad in a language Manjoume didn't recognise. It was soothing, as was the warmth from Fubuki's touch.

"You'll get a crick in your neck," warned Fubuki.

Manjoume lazily flopped a hand across where he guessed Fubuki's face would be. "Ssshhh."


	2. Chapter 2

Fubuki slept through most of the next morning, which gave Manjoume the chance to extricate himself from their cuddle pile with minimal embarrassment. After a leisurely shower he headed into the agency building, aiming to get some practice in with whichever other pros were there ahead of his duel the following evening.

As luck would have it, Ran Kochou was lurking and Manjoume did enjoy schooling her sometimes. When the agency had taken her on she'd been a snotty upstart, bugging them over everything that didn't get her closer to her man. Indeed he'd asked his manager why they'd bothered signing her. A few duels later, though, it was clear that she cared as much about duelling as she did about the Kaiser, and Manjoume understood a little about what a powerful unrequited love could drive a person to. They'd bonded over it eventually, chatting in the agency cafeteria, and little by little he'd seen a change in her. She hung around with other women more. She talked about things other than Ryo. She started setting goals for herself, not by reference to him. Today, he noticed, she wasn't wearing her usual locket.

"You're up against Sho Marufuji next week, aren't you?" said Manjoume, while shuffling his deck.

"Yeah, payback time!" Ran chuckled, low and short, her eyes crinkled but gaze steady. "I'm looking forward to facing that deck. It should be a real challenge."

"He's come a long way, but so have you," said Manjoume. "You won't make it easy for him." He set his deck down on the table and offered Ran the first turn.

Ran drew, smirking knowingly at Manjoume over the cards in her hand. "You'll be cheering for me, of course, senpai." She set a monster and two other cards.

"That depends on whether you disappoint me today," said Manjoume with a cultivated air of disdain, trying to hide the glow of pride at the honorific.

* * *

Duel fans poured out of the arena, buzzed and celebrating. Although some were inevitably disappointed at the result, Manjoume and Johan had put on a great show, leading the crowd to edge-of-their-seat excitement early and playing them throughout.

Ran and Fubuki sat in the empty bar, waiting for Manjoume to finish up in his dressing room. Manjoume had given them a couple of complimentary tickets as usual, although they weren't great seats. Manjoume said it was because the event was nearly sold out.

"I bet we got those seats because Manjoume-kun didn't want your signs in his field of view." Fubuki lifted an eyebrow and gave Ran a half-smile. "'Duel me or do me'? Could you be more direct?"

"It's the fangirl in me," Ran purred. Her head rested on her chin and she tapped a long carmine fingernail against her cheekbone. "I don't mean anything by it. Besides, he's cute when he gets embarrassed, don't you think?"

"That's no excuse for the things you shout."

"Ashamed of my behaviour, or wishing you could join in?" Ran chuckled and watched Fubuki squirm. "So when are you going to ask him out, anyway?"

"Me?" Fubuki's eyes widened. "You're the one who gets paired with him in all the gossip magazines."

"Yes, but I'm not in love with him, am I?"

Fubuki's mouth hung open for a couple of seconds, then he slumped dejectedly on the table, his head on his folded arms. "Am I that transparent?"

"I'm afraid so," said Ran. "You look at him like he's a newly emerged butterfly on the first day of spring. He's too dense to figure it out, though, so you're going to have to make the first move."

"I know who he likes, and it's not me," Fubuki sighed through his hair.

Ran leant back in her chair and tapped a stockinged high heel against the table leg. "Why so defeatist? From what he's told me, I thought you'd be one to fight."

"It's not that easy. We room together. What if it makes things awkward, what if it ruins our friendship?" Fubuki pushed himself back up, eyeing the door. "He's never given me any indication he's into me like that…"

Ran interrupted, leaning across the table to rap Fubuki softly on the forehead with her knuckles. "You're as dense as he is, you deserve each other. Do you think he acts the same around others as when he's with you? I've seen him confident, proud, inspired, exhilarated… but I've never seen him take as much delight in someone's company. He just melts around you."

"You think so?" Fubuki looked at Ran, waiting warily for a punchline that didn't come. Ran stared back.

"I could ask him for you."

"No, that's not – "

The sound of voices carried into the bar, and two jubilant duelists swept into sight. Johan held out a hand to Manjoume, and when Manjoume took it to shake, pulled him into a hug and clapped him on the back. Manjoume struggled against the bodily contact until Johan let him go with a smile.

"Thunder!" shouted Ran, needlessly loud in the deserted bar, making Manjoume jump. His eyes flicked to Ran, and then Fubuki, and he smiled.

Their reunion was to be interrupted, however. An overexcited duel fan, fuelled with hype and overpriced booze, and clothed solely in joy and hubris, ran back in from off the street. In keen pursuit security chased him round the tables. One woman splintered off to protect the duelists, but Fubuki was already there, whispering in Manjoume's reddening ear.

"Come on, let's get you out of here."

* * *

Fubuki was settled on the couch when Manjoume got out of the bathroom. A blanket covered his legs, thrown casually up on the cushions, and he was laughing at the laptop that rested on his midsection.

"Planning another late night?" asked Manjoume. He was still pumped from the duel and didn't feel like he could sleep yet himself. "Should I put some coffee on?"

"I'm ok for the moment, thanks." Fubuki obligingly shifted his legs up to give Manjoume room to sit down if he wanted, which he did.

"What are you up to?"

"Just wasting time, really." Fubuki wriggled upright, pulling the blanket to cover Manjoume's legs and angling the laptop to share the screen. "It's the second semi-final tonight, so I'm catching up on the memes from the first one until it starts."

"A horse's head?" Manjoume tucked the blanket under his toes for extra cosiness, and leaned in for a closer look. His skin tingled. "How do you sing through that?"

"He was just the backing dancer," said Fubuki, scrolling a little further down the page. "But he wore that head for all the interviews and photobombed half the other entries."

"Huh. Oh, that's cool." Manjoume pointed at a set of pictures highlighting light-up attachments, capes seemingly disintegrating into a dress with a spin, tearaway trousers revealing sparkling hotpants underneath , directing the viewer's attention in no uncertain fashion. He looked away at that one and wished he hadn't said anything.

Fubuki didn't seem to think it odd. "Yeah, it's a bit of an institution in the contest, an on-stage costume change. It doesn't seem to grab as many votes as it used to though."

"What does win votes?"

"Honestly?" Fubuki smiled at Manjoume. Manjoume's heart, painfully aware of their proximity, leapt in response. "I don't have a clue. Like some countries always vote for their neighbours, and you'd think that'd lead to a pretty stale outcome. But it seems like all that cancels out in the end and something random sweeps the board. You always lose some really good songs in the semi-finals, too, which is why I like to watch them."

On the screen, a man seemingly trapped in a giant hamster ball was rolling around an oblivious singer. "And Europeans say our television is weird."

Fubuki laughed. "I'm thinking of inviting Johan over to watch the final. I'm sure he can explain the cultural significance of glittery dubstep vampires."

"He might be one himself. Wait, are those girls… kissing on stage?" There was no mistaking it. The camera even zoomed in to capture the moment more clearly.

"It was a protest song," explained Fubuki, feeling Manjoume go awkwardly rigid next to him. "Their country was about to vote on allowing same sex couples to marry, so she wrote the song to counter all the hate she was seeing." He paused, then took a tentative step in the water. He watched Manjoume's expression closely as he spoke. "I think it's great to see support like this, and internationally too. It's one of the reasons I like Eurovision. It shows people should be free to love who they want."

"Master…" Manjoume's look faded from a rabbit in headlights to one that had found a nice warm burrow to nestle in. He was having trouble finding the right words though. "Are you… do you…"

"I don't know what I am," said Fubuki honestly. "I'm still figuring it out. I do get crushes on guys, but only rarely, and only after becoming friends. With girls… they never seem to want to get to know me. So I wonder if I could like a girl, if the right one came along."

Fubuki rarely talked about himself like this, always deflected such talk onto others. The look in his eyes seemed made of vulnerability and pain. Manjoume put his arms around Fubuki's shoulders, just holding him. "It's ok."

"Is it?" Fubuki didn't move.

"It will be," said Manjoume assuredly. "Anyone that says otherwise will have to go through me." Still, he was fixating on what Fubuki had said. After becoming friends…

* * *

Author's note: Just to make sure... This is a fictionalised version of the ESC. I've taken inspiration from some previous singers but those singers are not the same in this world, and the stories are different.


	3. Chapter 3

The piercing sound of the fire alarm interrupted Fubuki's lie in. He could smell burning, too, and that jerked him unpleasantly awake. He slid out of bed and sprinted through to the living area.

A pan was smoking and spitting on the stove, and Fubuki breathed a sigh of relief that that was all it was. Manjoume was flapping around with a dishcloth. Before he could make the charred food into a full-blown fire, Fubuki had turned off the heat, moved the pan, and covered it with a lid.

"Missing the Osiris Red cafeteria, are you?" Fubuki smiled, and turned the extractor fan up to maximum. "Of all the things to get nostalgic for, I wouldn't have expected the food was one of them."

Manjoume huffed, slumping against the kitchen cupboard. "It was supposed to be oyakodon. I was following a recipe, but they must have missed some steps."

"Don't you normally get breakfast at the convenience store?"

"I wanted to make something today," said Manjoume, defensively. "I have the day off."

"In that case," said Fubuki, his heart rate still elevated, "want to go get some food together?"

* * *

It was quiet upstairs in the café, too late for commuter breakfasts but too early for casual lunches. Manjoume watched the occasional car pass in the wide street outside the window, his croissant and cooling coffee so far untouched. Fubuki watched Manjoume.

"About last night," Fubuki ventured. Manjoume rested his elbow on the table and cupped his chin in his hand, his knuckles covering his mouth. "I'm sorry if I upset you in any way. I shouldn't have burdened you with my problems."

"Don't worry about it," Manjoume sulked. The acrid stench of failure still hung about his nostrils.

"The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable." Fubuki stirred an extra sugar into his latte. The doughnut that sat alongside it was already powdery sweet.

"Too late for that," said Manjoume, thinking bitterly about how he'd planned this morning would go versus the reality. It had been embarrassing enough to have his cooking turn out suited only to a hazardous waste bin, but to have its intended recipient have to save them both from a fiery death injured his pride to the vanishing point.

Fubuki sat quietly, then drained his coffee quickly and wrapped his doughnut in a napkin. "Please try to forget I said anything. I'm sorry."

Manjoume heard Fubuki's chair scrape across the floor, and his footsteps pad away. Every corner of his mind was screaming to follow Fubuki, to hug him from behind and tell him everything he'd intended to say over homemade breakfast, but his muscles wouldn't obey, resolutely fixing him to his seat.

* * *

The door buzzer sounded, harsh against the silence in the apartment. Manjoume listened from behind his closed door, and not hearing anything, peeked out. Ran had said she might stop by to swap cards from the new pack, and he could certainly do with a diversion.

On opening the front door, however, he was greeted by an ingenuous smile under a bedhead of teal.

"Johan," Manjoume said, not bothering to disguise his falling spirits. "I forgot, it's the final tonight, isn't it?"

"Manjoume!" Johan shook Manjoume's hand enthusiastically. "Thanks for inviting me. It's great timing – I fly back tomorrow, so if I stay awake through tonight, I'll have no trouble sleeping on the plane."

"Fubuki's not here right now –" Manjoume began, but Johan was already walking past him into the apartment, and the noise of the wheels on his suitcase obfuscated Manjoume's voice. It also did a good job of blocking the sound of running footsteps in the corridor outside, and Manjoume unwittingly almost shut the door on Fubuki returning from the store with full shopping bags.

Manjoume glanced back at Johan, who was taking off his shoes, and pulled the door open again. It was a tight squeeze with Johan's case taking up a good portion of the entryway, but Fubuki managed to get past without making physical or eye contact with Manjoume.

"Thanks," Fubuki said quietly as Manjoume shut the door. "We'll go in my room so we don't bother you."

"No, stay out here," said Manjoume. The image of Johan lounging on Fubuki's bed was one he tried to quickly dispel from memory.

Johan clapped a hand on each of their shoulders. "Can I help you with that?"

"Oh? That would be great, thanks," said Fubuki, and handed Johan one of the shopping bags. Bottles clinked inside. Fubuki followed Johan to the kitchen area and the two unpacked drinks and snacks for the evening's festivities.

Johan looked around with a handful of removed cardboard packaging. "Is there a recycling bin for this?"

"Just over there," Fubuki indicated, balling up the shopping bags for later use.

Johan went to ditch the card but something colourful inside the bin distracted him. He looked closer. "Flowers? They're lovely, too, if a bit squashed." He looked from Manjoume to Fubuki and back, a gleeful smile developing on his face. "Does someone have an unwanted admirer?"

Fubuki turned sharply to look at Manjoume, who had turned his back to hide his reddening face. Why couldn't he have incinerated the flowers along with the food?

"They were from someone at work," Manjoume lied.

"You went to the trouble of bringing them home, but you didn't want to put them on display?" Fubuki's tone verged on sneering. Manjoume crossed his arms, torn between stomping into his room, and sticking around for the evening out of sheer bloody-mindedness.

"I'm sure they're just not his style," said Johan with a laugh. "Do you want a beer instead, Manjoume?"

"Oh, Manjoume-kun won't be sticking around," said Fubuki. "He's not really into this whole thing."

Spite propelled Manjoume to the kitchen counter, equipped him with an open bottle, and settled him on the sofa for the obstinate long haul. "Actually, it's really growing on me."


	4. Chapter 4

Fubuki's arm lay across the back of the couch, directly behind Johan's head. Manjoume eyed it surreptitiously from behind the cushion he was hugging. The other two were trawling through video archives, cheering together at iconic performances, swapping jokes Manjoume didn't understand. He held the cushion tighter and completely failed to concentrate on the screen.

Manjoume's phone vibrated in his pocket. He had to wiggle momentarily closer to Johan to free up enough space to pull it out. Johan didn't seem to notice.

He could have texted Ran back, but Manjoume chose to call her, keeping his voice bright. "Yeah, I'm still awake. We're having a party. Come over."

That earned him a pointed look from Fubuki, which he just as pointedly ignored. He finished his drink and busied himself in the kitchen making coffee until Ran arrived.

Pleasantries exchanged, Manjoume invited Ran to sit at the dinner table where she could spread her cards out. He headed into his room, ostensibly to pick up his own spares, but found himself collapsing spread-eagled onto the bed. He stared at the ceiling and tried to relax the tension in his limbs.

The volume on the TV had been turned down with the lateness of the hour, and voices from the other room carried well over it. They sounded lively, engaged. How could Fubuki carry on like that when the stormcloud over Manjoume's head was so heavy?

There was a knock at the door. Manjoume scrambled off the bed and let out the breath he'd been holding to shout he'd just be a minute, but Ran burst in before he could get out a syllable.

"Don't leave me with them any longer," Ran whined, entwining her arm about Manjoume's. "They're nerding out about things I don't understand."

Manjoume pried her arm away firmly. It wasn't enough for her to invade his privacy, she had to invade his personal space too? "I'll be back soon, I just need to find those cards…"

"Is it these, by any chance?" Ran picked up the neat pile of spares that Manjoume had of course left out in the most obvious place ahead of her visit. Manjoume grabbed at them, flustered, and refused to meet Ran's eyes. Her voice softened. "Are you okay, Jun-chan?"

"Yeah, I…" Manjoume sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, too tired to take issue with the familiarity of the address. "Not really."

Ran followed suit, glancing at the door to check it was shut. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't think that would help."

"Did something happen at work? At home?" Ran spotted Manjoume's fingers start to curl, and pressed on. "With Fubuki-san?"

"I can't say." Manjoume's head and shoulders drooped.

"I can keep a secret."

Manjoume rubbed his nose with his sleeve and sat quietly. Ran was about to ask if he wanted her to leave him alone when he started to speak. "I messed up."

Ran put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Go on."

"I was going to… I had something prepared, and I ruined it, and then I went on ruining it, and the only thing I can do now is make it worse."

"Now, that's not true, is it? You're Manjoume Thunder, you've bounced back many times before. Whatever you did, I'm sure you can make up for it."

"Maybe not this time." Manjoume sniffed, and his sleeve again came up to meet his nose.

"Fubuki-san's not the type of guy to hold a grudge," Ran said. "I thought after how I'd acted towards Ryo-san, he'd want nothing to do with me. But when you introduced us he treated me like any new friend. He's really something."

"He is." Manjoume couldn't help a small smile at that.

"And he cares for you a great deal." That plunged Manjoume into silence again. Ran continued. "Have you talked to him since whatever happened?"

"No," Manjoume admitted.

"Then you haven't apologised." Ran laughed, and playfully slapped the back of Manjoume's hand. "Perhaps you should try that to start with."

* * *

Manjoume could feel Fubuki's eyes on him, without looking, as he and Ran walked back into the shared room. He made sure to take the seat facing away from the couch. Ran had spread her cards out already, no attempt at sorting them, so he flicked through just as casually while Ran shuffled through the pile he'd given her.

"Oh, is that the new pack?" Johan asked from the couch. "Is it any good?"

"It's ok," said Manjoume, "but I can just tell I'm going to come up against six identical Lightsworn decks in the next month." He set aside a trap card that would do nicely in that eventuality. "Oh, that one would be good against Sho."

"You think so?" Ran re-read the text on the card she was holding. "Maybe. It won't work too well with my current setup but I've got time to test out some changes."

"What deck do you run?" Johan came over, the lure of cards proving stronger than pop music. Manjoume gave him a nod and he started flicking through the cards himself.

"Insect Princess," said Ran, giving Johan a creepy smile as she drew out the sibilance of the syllables.

"That's amazing! I used to have an insect deck myself, before I met my family." Ruby Carbuncle nuzzled close to Johan's ear and he laughed. "I used to collect them too. Beetles, bugs, butterflies…"

"It's a lovely warm night out," said Ran. "I bet we could catch some moths on Manjoume-kun's balcony."

"Absolutely not," said Manjoume, twigging Ran's plan with horror. "You'd need a net or something."

"A lady has her ways," said Ran with a wink, pinching her long nails together ominously.

"It might be fun, after all these years," said Johan. His eyes sparkled.

"Then, let's go!" Ran leapt up and hooked her arm through Johan's, the two of them whisking out of the room like a gleeful hurricane.

In the silence that followed, Manjoume looked at the cards on the table, but nothing made sense to him. He couldn't read to the end of an effect.

"Manjoume-kun."

Manjoume started to try to sort them into piles. Spells, traps, monsters; effect, normal; level; archetype… he could keep it up all night if necessary.

"Manjoume-kun," Fubuki insisted. "Come over here." He patted the couch next to him.

Manjoume obeyed, reluctantly.

"I'm sorry you're upset. But I need to know, do we have a problem? Are we going to have to change our living situation?"

Manjoume picked at some stray fluff on his black trousers. "I'm not upset at you. I'm upset at myself."

"Manjoume-kun, please look at me."

"I'm sorry." There, it was out. Manjoume cautiously peeked at Fubuki from under his heavy sweep of hair. "I was having a bad day, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. And it wasn't to do with what you told me."

Fubuki sucked his bottom lip through his teeth thoughtfully. "Then, apology accepted. Shall we call it quits on this squabble?" He held up his pinky finger. "We shouldn't go to bed angry."

"You don't plan on going to bed at all tonight," said Manjoume, but he shook Fubuki's finger with his own anyway, fingertips kissing in promise.

"Doesn't mean we can't go in the morning," said Fubuki, with a sudden grin. "Sleepover in your room?"

* * *

Fubuki yawned and waved Johan out of the door with a bleary smile. Manjoume was where he'd left him, curled up in a tight ball on the couch.

Fubuki squatted down in front of him and patted his head. "Hey, sleepyhead."

Manjoume stirred, scrunched his eyes open, pulled Fubuki's hand towards him and closed his eyes again contentedly.

"You missed the result," said Fubuki. "Belgium won."

"I didn't like that one," said Manjoume, his speech soft and slurred. "Their voice was really weird."

"That was the song's charm, I guess." Fubuki tickled Manjoume's chin with his captive fingers, smiling when he tried to wriggle away.

"The voting went on for so long. I had no idea there were so many countries in Europe." Manjoume tried to push himself upright, but energy failed him and he slumped back down. "Is San Marino even a real country?"

"Johan left us gifts, by the way. We should open them together."

That got Manjoume's attention, and he reluctantly moved enough to let Fubuki sit back on the couch before lying back down, his head resting on Fubuki's lap. The package Fubuki handed him was square, about the size of a dinner plate, a few inches thick, and squeezable through the crisp paper. Fubuki slid a finger under the tape of the wrapping on his own gift. Manjoume tore into the wrapping indelicately to reveal a thick woollen knit jumper, plain navy blue for the bottom two thirds, but elaborately patterned in lighter colours around the neck and shoulders.

"Looks like Johan got us a couple outfit," said Fubuki with a chuckle. "We match." Manjoume looked up. Fubuki's sweater was similar to his, the colours reversed.

"Shame the weather's too warm for these now," said Manjoume.

"We'll still be friends next winter." Fubuki smiled down at Manjoume and was met with a smile in return, a soft flush pervading Manjoume's cheeks against a complexion wan from the lateness of the hour. "In the meantime, I think we both deserve a great day's sleep."

Manjoume yawned. "I'm not moving."

"Yes you are." Fubuki got up, a yelp of protest being heard as Manjoume's head thudded back down onto the couch cushion. He waited with one arm under Manjoume's knees and the other under his shoulders for Manjoume's hands to cross at the back of his neck, and lifted. It was a little more awkward than he'd anticipated getting the door to Manjoume's room open like this, but they managed, and collapsed giggling onto Manjoume's bed.

"Back to normality next week," whispered Fubuki as they lay face to face. "No more Eurovision, I promise. Until next year."

"No more Eurovision," agreed Manjoume, reaching out for Fubuki's hand once more. "But love and peace forever."

Fubuki felt his eyes closing, his head drifting, his heart full. "Love and peace forever."


	5. Chapter 5

The summer sun did Manjoume no favours. Black clothes and black hair drank in the heat and spit it out in warm rivulets down his forehead, neck, and back. As soon as he got home he planned to shed the layers, jump in a cool bath, and lie under the air conditioning until he passed out.

The air conditioning wasn't on, though. Instead a slight breeze came from the sliding glass door, open to the balcony beyond. Manjoume threw his trademark coat to the couch and peeked around the door.

"Hi, Manjoume-kun, welcome home!" Fubuki sat in beach shorts and a small inflatable paddling pool squeezed between the wall and the railings, the shiny blue plastic decorated with moe characters and filled with water. He licked a drip off the ice lolly he was holding, shaped and coloured like a slice of watermelon, already nibbled along one edge. "Come on in!"

"No thanks," said Manjoume, wrenching his eyes from Fubuki's indelicate treatment of the iced confection. "I'm going to run a bath inside."

"Please?" Fubuki asked. "It's our last night together before I go camping."

"It's only a few days, and you'll have the Kaiser and Fujiwara with you. You won't miss me at all." Despite his better judgement, Manjoume looked back, bearing the full force of Fubuki's pout and puppy-dog eyes.

"Of course I'll miss my Thunder." Fubuki splashed to the edge of the makeshift pool, tugging insistently at Manjoume's hand to pull him closer. The watermelon smelled sticky-sweet on his lips.

"Okay," Manjoume relented, then yelped indignantly as he overbalanced and plunged into the chilly water, spilling a good portion over the sides. He lunged for Fubuki's ice lolly in petty revenge, taking a big bite, and regretting it when he had to swallow it too fast and brainfreeze kicked in.

Fubuki laughed, carefree. Manjoume straightened up. His soaked clothes clung to his skin. He started to peel off his top, but the thread seemed to have shrunk in the water, making the task difficult.

"Want a hand?" offered Fubuki, close beside him. "And do you have trunks? I can go get them."

"No, I'll go." Manjoume, desperately hoping to salvage some dignity, indicated the other apartment blocks around them. "I can't change out here."

"Hurry back," said Fubuki, earnestly. "I want to make the most of this."

When Manjoume returned, the soft strains of a ballad joined them both on the balcony, emanating from small speakers set up at the opposite end. From his understanding of the English-language lyrics, it was full of references to kissing under moonlight. Manjoume tried to clear that thought from his head as he stepped into the pool and sat down next to Fubuki. Fubuki shifted up to give him some room, but they were still squashed shoulder to shoulder by the limiting width of the pool. The water lapped against Manjoume's bare skin, refreshing now that he was over the temperature shock.

Fubuki stared off to the steel and glass horizon, his face drawn along serious lines.

"Master?" Manjoume said, leaning forward to draw Fubuki's attention back to their tranquil watery world.

Fubuki blinked, caught by Manjoume's honest smile. The grin returned to his face in an instant and he sent a splash Manjoume's way. "You look like you're feeling better."

Manjoume shuffled forward so he could lean back and let the water work its cooling magic on his upper body. He squinted up at Fubuki, shading the sun with a hand. "I'm fine. It's just too hot, that's all."

"I love it." Fubuki stretched his arms to the sky in worship. Manjoume reached up to free a lock of damp hair that had stuck to Fubuki's skin. "What we need to do is get you a summer outfit. Brand recognition's great and all, but you've got to think of comfort sometimes."

"The arena's air conditioned," said Manjoume. "I'd freeze."

"We can at least get you sorted for casual wear, then," Fubuki continued undaunted. "Let's go shopping when I get back. I'll be your personal stylist."

"I don't think I can pull off fashion like you, Master," said Manjoume, thinking back to Fubuki's many and varied outfits.

"You've got your own style, and that's cool." Fubuki smiled down at him. "But someone else's eye can help you widen your options, you know? And you only buy new clothes when the old ones have completely disintegrated. I've seen your socks."

Manjoume flushed. "I'm being economical."

"Opening your wardrobe should be a pleasure," said Fubuki, lightly tapping Manjoume's arm with his knuckles. "It sets you up for the day. Sharp shoes, or a brightly coloured shirt…"

Manjoume grimaced.

"Please? You don't have to buy anything if you don't want to. Just try some things on." Fubuki scooched up in the pool to lie down next to Manjoume, propped up on one arm. "I want to see what you'd look like in green, or blue, or pink…"

Manjoume looked sideways at his over-eager mentor. "No sequins."

"One stage at a time," said Fubuki, and earned a grim frown. "Okay, no sequins, I promise. I'll take you for parfait afterwards, too, if you like?"

Manjoume paused. "Like a date?"

Fubuki sucked on his bottom lip, still watermelon-sweet. "Yeah, I guess. Like a date."

"Can I ask you something?" Manjoume asked, soft and low and hesitant.

"Sure you can." Fubuki rested his free hand on Manjoume's, the slickness of the water creating a barrier between them even as it connected them.

"Were you in love with the Kaiser?"

Fubuki's hand lifted momentarily. It could have been the buoyancy of the water. "Ryo? No, Ryo and I were good friends. Still are. But I didn't develop romantic feelings for him."

"Fujiwara-san, then."

"Yusuke…" Fubuki looked over. Manjoume was staring at the sky. It was still too early for the summer sun to set, but there was a slight overcast to the evening. "Yes, I loved Yusuke."

Manjoume shifted, sending ripples over Fubuki's stomach to match the butterflies inside it.

"It's funny. He's still the same person, really, even after everything that happened. But maybe I'm not." Fubuki felt a gentle pressure as Manjoume's fingertips tapped up against his own. Letting his supporting elbow down, he rested his head on Manjoume's shoulder, wrapped his hand around Manjoume's and squeezed.


	6. Chapter 6

The apartment felt like a mausoleum in Fubuki's absence. All the life and light had drained from it. As much as he'd longed to get out of the dorm environment where anyone could smash your door open without warning, Manjoume had grown to enjoy company when it didn't expect anything of him, and the silence now was oppressive. He pushed his half-eaten steak listlessly around the plate and reached for his phone.

Fubuki had sent him a couple of messages on the journey, and a picture message when he'd met the others at the station. Fubuki was grinning widely, with an arm around each of Fujiwara and the Kaiser, fingers thrown up in a V next to Ryo's head. Manjoume swiped the gallery closed and brought up the messaging window.

He sent one to Fubuki first, just text. He probably wouldn't get it anyway, there was little reception out in the mountains. Glad you're having fun, things here are great, heading out to meet people for dinner and drinks. Then of course he had to send a few more messages so that last part wasn't a lie. He tapped his fingers impatiently.

It seemed aeons before he got a reply, and when he did it wasn't an acceptance. The texts trickled in slowly, one rejection after another, then finally, his angel swooped in to save him. He'd spent so many years trying to get a date with Asuka, and now here he was, set to meet up with two Tenjoins within a week of each other…

* * *

The tents were set up in a semicircle on the rocky soil that led down to the river. The canvas door at the entrance to Fubuki's tent was rolled up and tied out of the way, exposing it to the clear mountain air. Ryo's was zipped up neatly, insect-proof. Yusuke had said he'd rather share with one of the others, so his tent had been made a communal area in between.

Ryo and Yusuke were sat inside, mid-duel. Fubuki watched from a camping chair, idly plucking the strings of his ukulele.

Ryo looked up, giving Fubuki an exasperated glare. "You still can't play that thing?"

"I'm learning," said Fubuki, strumming a random chord as proof. "Don't discourage me from trying. I could be the next –" he thought for a moment "– Rembrandt."

"Wasn't he a painter?" said Yusuke, still scanning his cards.

"Yes," admitted Fubuki. "But imagine if he'd had the time to learn the ukulele. Think what he could have accomplished!"

Still, he set the instrument aside at Ryo's groan and opted to join the two in the tent, sprawling across the entrance.

Ryo sighed. "You're blocking what remains of the light."

"I came prepared!" Fubuki lunged across the tent, scattering the game mats in the process, and returned triumphantly with a battery-powered lantern.

Ryo raised his hands in protest. "If you wanted us to stop duelling, you could have just asked."

"Now that you mention it…" Fubuki took his own deck box from a pocket in his shorts. "Did you both do it? Make an entirely new deck?"

"What do you think we were playing with?" Ryo gathered up the spilt cards, sorting through them and passing Yusuke's over to him. Yusuke blinked, recovering from staring, frozen, at the lantern, and nodded.

"Great!" Fubuki looked briefly through his own cards and shifted to get more comfortable on the hard and lumpy ground. "Then, pass them to the person on your… left."

"What?" Yusuke recoiled in shock. "But I made this deck… I know how it works. I can't use that," he eyed Fubuki's deck suspiciously. "There's no way."

"This is nonsense," agreed Ryo, but still he held his deck out to Fubuki.

"It's the ultimate fair test," explained Fubuki while he pressed his old deck into Yusuke's hands. "We each have a deck we've never played. You can argue that I have an advantage because I set the rules, but you two have seen a bit of each other's strategies, so I think we're even." He shuffled Ryo's cards. "A three-way blind duel. It'll be fun."

"I'll sit it out," said Yusuke, pressing back against the canvas wall with a taut smile. "You two go for it."

"No, it has to be all of us," Fubuki insisted. "We're bonding."

"If I wanted team-building exercises I'd go drinking with the league employees," said Ryo.

"Can't we just relax?" asked Yusuke. "At least for tonight."

"Please?" asked Fubuki, shuffling up in the tent to nudge Yusuke with a bare foot, and pulling his best wide-eyed pout. "It's important to me."

"What's tomorrow, primal screams and jumping over a waterfall?" Ryo said drily.

"If you're up for it, sure!" said Fubuki, pleased. "I thought it might not be the best thing for your heart…"

"You actually thought," retorted Ryo. "I'm impressed. Well, I won't turn down a handicap match. I expect you to bring it with my cards."

"Yusuke?" asked Fubuki. "I'll give you some time to look over the deck if you want. It's a good one, I promise, I poured all my feeling into it."

Yusuke's shoulders relaxed slightly and he loosed his grip on the cards.

"You can do it," said Ryo. "Imagine how great a duelist Rembrandt could have been if he'd switched out his paintbrush for a duel disk."

Yusuke laughed.

* * *

Manjoume sat at the café table, chin resting on his hand, and nursed his drink. He was feeling oddly down. Maybe it was the length of time he'd been sat there after rushing to get ready – picking out an outfit, brushing his hair, worrying over whether or not to bring a gift – and still he was early, and she wasn't there.

He stirred the ice in his soda with the straw and flicked open his phone cover. No new messages. He opened up the picture from Fubuki, analysing the curve of Fubuki's smile, and the way his fingers rested on Fujiwara's shoulder.

"Manjoume-kun?"

Manjoume jumped at the sound of Asuka's voice from behind him. He flipped the cover shut, cheeks reddening, and got up to pull Asuka's chair out.

"Tenjoin-kun, glad you could make it." He hoped he sounded sufficiently nonchalant. She was wearing a light summer dress, sleeves ruched off the shoulder, hair swept to one side and loosely plaited to hang over her collarbone. She was always beautiful but seeing her in casual clothes made his heart flutter.

She hesitated before sitting, looking around. "This table's only for two, should we find somewhere else?"

"This is fine," Manjoume said quickly. "No-one else could make it, in the end."

Asuka looked at him hard, her eyebrows furrowed. "Manjoume-kun, if you planned this to get me on a date –"

"Its not like that, I swear," interjected Manjoume, suddenly glad he'd not stopped off at that florist on the way. "Just – friends catching up, that's all."

Asuka pursed her lips, then decided to take the seat offered. "That sounds good to me. I've only seen my parents since I got back. Where is my idiot brother, anyway?"

"He's off camping," Manjoume said. "With the Kaiser and Fujiwara. And he's not an idiot."

"Well, Ryo should keep him in line anyway. And the break will do him good, he's been pretty stressed lately." Asuka called the server over and ordered an iced tea.

"He has?" Manjoume thought back. Fubuki hadn't seemed too busy with work, and he wasn't complaining about not getting enough engagements either.

"From his emails I'd think the world was ending, if I didn't know about his penchant for the dramatic. Just some silly crush." Asuka looked up from the menu. "I thought he'd have talked to you about it, hasn't he?"

"He might have," said Manjoume, trying to cover up how little he apparently knew about his best friend and housemate. "Did he tell you who it was?"

"I didn't ask," said Asuka. "I don't really care, as long as he stays out of trouble."

* * *

There was phone service back at the entrance to the campsite, its painted wooden eaves encroaching as they were on the edges of the small town, but Fubuki was looking for privacy. He ambled along the side of the stream, tilting the phone this way and that. The late evening light was beginning to be swallowed by the dense foliage around him. To turn on the torch he'd brought, though, would have been to spoil nature's mood.

A series of impatient dings heralded the arrival of a single bar of signal. Fubuki eagerly scrolled through the notifications, flicking out the spam, briefly noting the work opportunities he'd want to follow up when he got back. Then there was a text from Manjoume, disappointingly anodyne, and later a single blurry thumbnail.

Fubuki urgently pressed on it and waited the agonising seconds for the image to load. Manjoume smiled at him from the screen, a faint blush visible on his cheeks, his head pressed close against Asuka's to get the both of them in the frame.

Fubuki huffed a sigh to the darkening heavens and felt around him for a sturdy rock to sit on. It had been pure bad luck that the start of Asuka's visit had coincided with the only days Ryo could make for their trip. And now this. Fubuki felt the universe was conspiring against him. Still, he wasn't about to stand in the way of anyone else's happiness.

Tell her I love her and I miss her, he wrote back. You too. Backspace backspace backspace. Look after my baby sister.

A gentle cough from behind made Fubuki start. He hit send and looked around, just able to distinguish the grey shape of his friend in the gloom through the pinpricks behind his eyes.

"Yusuke! What are you doing here? I thought you were staying at the camp?"

Yusuke shrugged, pulling nervously on his fingers. "Ryo's gone to sleep but I wasn't tired, so I went for a walk."

"Are you okay?" Fubuki patted the rock next to him. Yusuke sat after giving it a cursory examination for dampness. "If you need some time to yourself, that's cool."

"I was hoping to find you, actually," said Yusuke.


	7. Chapter 7

"Cheers!"

The clinking of glasses rang out over the background noise in the restaurant. Manjoume had managed to get most of the gang together, even if the party was a few days before Fubuki's actual birthday. He swirled the beer in his glass, watching Fubuki laughing with an arm around each of the Kaiser and Fujiwara. They looked good together, the Elites, all poise and polish, their undeniable struggles laid deep below and hidden to outsiders.

Fubuki looked across the table at Manjoume, catching his gaze. Manjoume dropped his eyes to the beer and took a swig, managing to spill some in the process. He wiped it up with his sleeve. When he looked back up, Fubuki was leaning in close to Fujiwara, talking too low for Manjoume to work out the words.

Manjoume wished Asuka could have made it, despite the distance, and her punishing schedule learning to teach alongside studying for her doctorate. Not only would Fubuki have loved to see her, but Manjoume might not have been stuck in between Shou and Kenzan bickering over the last grilled chicken skewer on one side, and Johan on the other monopolising Judai opposite. He made a blithe excuse and stepped outside to get some air.

It was still warm for the season. Manjoume watched couples come and go from the alley's various small restaurants, their happy chatter filling the air. He huffed a sigh, refilled his lungs, and let the breath go slowly.

A sudden soft pressure on Manjoume's shoulder made him jump.

"Are you feeling ok?" Fubuki asked, his voice low and concerned. As Manjoume turned to face him Fubuki dropped his hand from Manjoume's shoulder to his elbow, gently stroking his arm.

"I'll be back in a minute," said Manjoume, summoning up a smile in hopes of conjuring one likewise on Fubuki's face.

Instead, he found Fubuki's arms wrapped around him and his face pressed into Manjoume's cheek. "Thunder, you know I love you, right?"

That'll be the shochu talking, thought Manjoume, and patted Fubuki's back encouragingly. "I love you too." He held Fubuki tight, hugging him until he felt like his cheeks wouldn't betray him. It really was warm out here, and they were attracting a few stares. "Hey, Master. What are you doing on your birthday itself?"

"I've no plans yet," said Fubuki. His big brown eyes seemed darker in the tight alley as they searched Manjoume's face. "I was hoping to spend it with someone special."

"Oh," said Manjoume, deflating. "Well, if that falls through, my agency's having a party for Hallowe'en. I can bring a plus one."

"I'd love to," said Fubuki, and then that smile appeared, bright as the sun emerging from eclipse. "Will it be fancy dress?"

* * *

As prepared as Manjoume was with his outfit, it was still a panicked rush to get ready for the party. His unruly hair was proving the hardest part. The wig he'd bought hadn't worked out so he was trying to persuade his own locks to lie at least a little flatter. A comb and water alone, however, just wasn't cutting it. He wished he'd done this before putting on the costume. Sensing his frustration, Ojama Yellow popped up to reassure its boss, and got smacked into the wall for its trouble.

There was a soft knock at the door of Manjoume's room and Fubuki's voice carried through. "Manjoume-kun?"

Manjoume swore under his breath as he opened the door. "The taxi's not here already, is it?"

"No, you've got a little while yet… Whoah, you look cool, Thunder!" Fubuki looked Manjoume up and down, from his leather body armour and functional utility harness to strapped, overly sturdy boots, and back up to the smudged black around his eyes. "A bit scary, but cool. And what do you know, we both have metal arms."

"Thanks," said Manjoume, momentarily transfixed by Fubuki's gaze. He snapped out of it, only to get caught by the glimpse of bare chest under the double-breasted waistcoat Fubuki was sporting. He turned back to his desk mirror, colouring rapidly. "You look great too. I don't think I recognise the costume?"

"There's a cape to go over it," said Fubuki. "You might then. Are you having trouble? I heard shouting."

Manjoume sighed. "It's my hair. I'm trying to style it like this, but it won't behave." He showed Fubuki a picture on his smartphone. Fubuki cupped Manjoume's hand in his own to get a better look.

"As much as I like to encourage bad behaviour, let me see if I can help. I've got straighteners in my room, come on over."

Manjoume obediently followed and sat on the end of Fubuki's bed while he plugged in the hair straighteners. Fubuki's room smelled fresher than his own. The window was open slightly and in front of it sat a small vase of flowers in pink and yellow.

Fubuki spritzed something lightly perfumed in Manjoume's hair, teasing through it with his fingers. He started to clip sections up, working from the top of Manjoume's head down. Manjoume held his breath until Fubuki reached for the straighteners, fearing that otherwise Fubuki might feel it on his exposed skin.

"Ow-ow-ow!" Manjoume recoiled from the sudden heat at the nape of his neck, and certainly not from the slight dip in the bed as Fubuki sat down behind him. "Watch where you're putting those!"

"I'm sorry," Fubuki checked the area and found the skin unmarked, and cool to the brief touch of a finger. "I'll be more careful." He tried again, starting the straighteners slightly further down the hair. It was more difficult to get it to lie flat this way. He had to hold each section down with a hand until it cooled, and then blast it with strong hairspray.

Manjoume looked enviously at the reflection of Fubuki in the full-length mirror on the wall. His long brown hair was effortlessly swept to one side, bangs peeking over a red bandana. Fubuki looked really good in red and black. He could have gone to the party as Generic Vampire #36 and still had all the girls at his side. Manjoume's eyes flicked to the time on his phone.

"We're going to be late," said Manjoume, though in truth he didn't mind, sat there with Fubuki giving him personal attention.

"Royalty only arrives when everyone else is gathered to applaud their entrance," said Fubuki, continuing calmly and methodically. It wasn't going to turn out quite like the picture, but the character's hair was messy enough that he could get away with not doing a perfect job. The centre parting was the hardest part. He really had to weigh that down with product.

Fubuki shifted off the bed to get a better look at his handiwork from the front. He just needed to clip those front segments back. They kept wanting to fall back in front of Manjoume's face.

Manjoume leaned to look past Fubuki at the mirror. It was a little bushy, but not completely unrecognisable. "It doesn't really suit me, does it?"

"It's not so bad." Fubuki smiled. "It's kind of sexy getting to see your whole forehead."

"Forehead?" Manjoume floundered. In a list of sexiest body parts, he hadn't anticipated that would make the top ten.

Fubuki shrugged. "It's like glasses, you know, when someone first takes them off in front of you. Just a small change that makes your perspective shift." He studied Manjoume's face. "Ah! Just one more thing."

Fubuki grabbed what looked like a pencil and knelt in front of Manjoume, supporting his chin with one hand and making small strokes of the pencil with the other. "You have to have stubble, that'll really amp up the hotness."

"It's Hallowe'en," said Manjoume, trying not to move his jaw too much, and trying to avoid looking into Fubuki's eyes when he was so close. "It's not supposed to be hot."

Fubuki leaned forward and tilted Manjoume's chin down towards him, a mischievous smile on his face. "Since when?"

* * *

The party was in full swing by the time the pair showed up. Duelists, managers, administrative staff, all enjoying the fun of drinking and dancing. Manjoume grabbed them each a beer and surveyed the room. Fubuki might be a social butterfly, but Manjoume needed to find someone he knew to start a conversation, and it was hard to recognise anyone behind masks and makeup and nightclub lighting.

"Bucky and Bucky!" A familiar voice hailed them from the other side of the bottle bar. Manjoume squinted. Someone was trying hard, and failing harder, to give the impression of innocence. Beneath the cropped wig of messy blonde curls was Ran's face. As the two started started towards her, the smudges on her face and clothes became clearer. She was covered in what Manjoume vehemently hoped were not live bees.

"What the hell are you supposed to be?" he said, apropos of greeting.

"Lovely to see you too, Thunder. I'm Helen. From Candyman." She registered the blank look on his face. "'It was always you, Helen…' You've never seen it?"

Manjoume shook his head.

"Come over sometime, we can watch it together. You too, Fubuki-san."

Fubuki grimaced, holding up his hands in supplication. "I don't like horror movies."

"It's a romance, at its heart, you'll love it." Ran punched Fubuki's faux-metal arm playfully.

"I'll pass," said Fubuki with a timid laugh.

"So, Manjoume-kun, you're the Winter Soldier. Fubuki-san, who are you?"

"You don't recognise it either?" Fubuki looked disappointed. "It's Vincent Valentine."

"Oh, really?" Ran looked the outfit over again. "I see it now, but… Did his outfit always look like that?"

"Well, I made some modifications, of course. You have to be sexy for Hallowe'en." Fubuki ran his hand through his somehow tangle-free hair and leant against the bar, causing his jacket to offer a wider peek of his exposed chest.

"I'll drink to that." Ran clinked her bottle with Fubuki's and drained the remainder.

"See, Manjoume-kun?" Fubuki patted Manjoume's head. "It's all about letting go of your inhibitions for the night."

Manjoume, eyes averted, wondered whether Fubuki had any inhibitions left.

"Oh, I love this song!" Ran set her empty bottle on the bar and beckoned to Manjoume. "Dance with me!"

"No thanks," said Manjoume. While he could be graceful at times, he didn't think the combat boots and metal arm would aid that, and the drink wasn't yet helping with the inhibitions he allegedly needed to shed.

"Fubuki-san, then," said Ran, putting her arm through Fubuki's and leading him to the dancefloor. "It's your birthday, right? I'll make it special for you!" Fubuki shot a regretful smile back towards Manjoume.

It was an up-tempo song, but that didn't stop Ran from getting up close with her moves. Fubuki, the consummate showman, played along, letting Ran drape herself around him, placing his hands on her hips as she shimmied. Out of the corner of his eyes he watched Manjoume, who seemed intent on something on his cellphone.

Ran pulled Fubuki's head closer as the next song began, her lips next to his ear to be heard above the music. "Smoking hot bad girl right in front of you, and you don't care. At least tell me you two are dating now to save my pride."

Fubuki pouted ruefully. "I'm afraid not."

"It's been six months!" Ran poked a finger at Fubuki's chest.

"It's been longer than that," sighed Fubuki, looking over at Manjoume, who appeared to have been apprehended by a literal bigwig.

"Seriously, if you need a go-between, I'll do it." Ran pressed up close to Fubuki, one hand on his chest, the other cupping his neck. "Or we could pretend to date to make him jealous."

"There's no need." Fubuki gently, but firmly, removed Ran's hands. "I guess I just have to bite the bullet, don't I?"

"No time like the present!" Ran ignored Fubuki's protests and pushed her way through the crowd, returning with an equally complaining Manjoume. "I have to go to the ladies' room. When I come back you'd better be dancing, at the very least." She winked at the pair and disappeared in the throng.

Fubuki offered Manjoume an apologetic smile, and an outstretched hand. "Well? Shall we?"

"I, uh, can't do what she was doing," Manjoume blustered, red-faced.

"I could say I wouldn't want you to," said Fubuki, smiling as he prepared to dive off the deep end, "but part of me wonders what that would be like."

Manjoume dropped his head to hide his face, finding it more difficult with his hair parted as it was. "It's too hot in here. I've got something for you, come outside." He grabbed Fubuki's wrist so they wouldn't get separated crossing the busy dancefloor. Fubuki reached out to counter, sliding his hand down Manjoume's palm and linking their fingers. There was something new in the touch, a hesitancy that sent a soft electricity straight up Fubuki's arm to his heart, and short-circuited his tongue. He followed quietly as Manjoume led him to the atrium.

Regretfully, Manjoume let go, and foraged in a pocket for a crumpled envelope which he thrust at Fubuki. "Happy birthday."

"Manjoume-kun, thank you, you shouldn't have…" Fubuki froze as he accepted the unlabelled envelope. It was a nondescript letter size, in businesslike white, and the flap was unsealed. It seemed most unlikely to be anything approaching a love letter, but there was the possibility that Manjoume might have downplayed the theatrics if he was afraid of rejection. Unsure whether he wanted to open the envelope and dismiss that possibility, Fubuki looked up at Manjoume, trying to discern a hint of his intentions.

"Master?" Manjoume asked, touching concerned fingertips to Fubuki's arm. "Are you ok? You look pale suddenly."

"I'm fine," Fubuki managed a grateful smile and looked around, spotting a bench in the courtyard, under a video screen displaying silent highlights of the agency's duelists. Ran was keeping an eye on him even here, it seemed. "Let's sit down."

Manjoume sat close to Fubuki, watching him. "You should open it," he said.

"Now?" said Fubuki, and at Manjoume's nod he held his breath and slipped the contents slowly from the envelope. A printed sheet of A4 paper, perforated into thirds, emblazoned with the phrase 'Love Life'. Fubuki's eyes widened. He cast a glance at Manjoume, who was sporting a victorious smirk. "Are these…" he started to ask, but it was printed right there, Eurovision Song Contest: Grand Final. "How did you get hold of these? Tickets haven't even gone on sale yet!"

Manjoume waved a hand airily. "A network exec owed me a favour."

Fubuki wrapped his arms around Manjoume and squeezed him tightly, obstructed by the leather of Manjoume's fake body armour. "Thank you so much," he whispered.

Manjoume patted Fubuki's back until he broke the hold. "There's two tickets," he said, and paused, scrunching his nose. "I thought you could take Fujiwara-san."

"Fujiwara-san?" Fubuki repeated blankly.

Manjoume looked down, feeling too hot under his costume and wondering if he could at least remove the arm sleeve. "I thought you might want to get away for a while. Be alone."

"I don't think –"

Manjoume interrupted, the words spilling out aggressively fast. "I'll pay for the flights too, of course, don't worry about money. And the hotel. Would you two need a double bed?"

Fubuki let out a long breath. "Manjoume-kun, you've got this all wrong. Yusuke and I, we're not together."

"You're not?" Manjoume wouldn't raise his gaze from his knees. Fubuki moved along the bench to allow room to lie down, his head in Manjoume's lap, and looked up to try to catch Manjoume's glance. Manjoume looked off to the far wall instead.

"Not any more," Fubuki said softly. "We tried, when he first came back, but… there was too much distance between us."

The pause lasted too long and Fubuki reached up to tap Manjoume on the nose, trying to get him to look down. "My feelings had changed… I found I couldn't love him in the same way. I've moved on."

"Then, there's someone else you like?" The wall opposite seemed about to buckle under Manjoume's fixed stare.

"Yes, there is," said Fubuki. He reached for Manjoume's hand, holding it clasped over his fast-beating heart.

Manjoume finally looked down, at Fubuki's face set incongruously serious against his fancy dress costume. He swallowed, but it did nothing to quell the croak in his voice. "Who?"

The hard bench pressing against Fubuki's back had given way to something fuzzy and thrumming as the room span. He was teetering on a vertiginous precipice, about to plunge, waiting for the hand that would push him over or pull him back. "You… haven't figured it out?"

"Someone who's a close friend," said Manjoume, tentatively.

"Mm-hmm."

"Who's not the Kaiser or Fujiwara-san."

"Mm-hmm."

Manjoume paused, his years spent with feelings unrequited forbidding him from saying what he hoped. "Then… Judai..?"

Fubuki felt the weight of his secret pressing him back down to the bench, the fear that voicing his love would tear apart all they had built together. He pushed away Manjoume's hand and tried to play it off with a laugh. "If I had a cushion right now I would throw it at you." He sat up, and remembered what had got him into this mess. "But about those tickets, I'd like to take you, if you'd be up for it."

"Me? Are you sure?" Manjoume couldn't help but preen at how things had worked out, but still he questioned his good fortune. "What about Johan? He's more into the whole thing."

"And I'm more into you," said Fubuki with a lightness he didn't feel. "Now, you were saying something about a double bed…"

Manjoume clapped his hand over Fubuki's mouth and looked frantically around for eavesdroppers. There were none, but the red tinge was rapidly expanding from the tips of his ears nonetheless. "We should get back to the party."

Fubuki gently lowered Manjoume's hand. "If you want. But you do owe me a dance."

Manjoume bit his lip, weighing his reluctance to be seen as other than the charismatic duelist Manjoume Thunder in front of his colleagues against the countless numbers who would likely hit on Fubuki in his absence. "Maybe just one."


	8. Chapter 8

The lights were off when Manjoume returned home. He hesitated as he took his shoes off, looking past the entryway into the living area. A Christmas song was playing softly, and candles burned on the table. Manjoume padded into the room and started as Fubuki's voice came from the kitchen behind.

"Welcome home!" Fubuki was stirring a delicious-smelling pot on the stove by the light on the hood. His long hair was loosely tied back, the ends of his bangs framing his face. The kitchen surfaces were covered in used utensils, bowls full of different foods, and more candles.

"I didn't know you were expecting someone," said Manjoume, heading straight for his room. "I could have found somewhere else to stay." It was unacceptable that Fubuki hadn't told him if he'd asked his crush out in time for Christmas eve. They'd promised to spend the evening together, the bond of their friendship softening the blow of being single on a night given to romance. And if Fubuki was going to be with anyone else in their house then Manjoume really didn't want to be around to see it.

"I'm only expecting you," said Fubuki. "It's nearly ready, would you give me a hand bringing things over please?"

Manjoume stopped in his tracks, processing. Fubuki had clearly gone to considerable effort and it was gratifying to think it was just for him. Manjoume felt a little guilty for having assumed the worst, and wondered whether he should have done more than just stop by the shops earlier to pick something up.

"Oh. Yeah." Manjoume reversed course and headed for the kitchen, casting a glance at Fubuki before looking over the delicious-smelling food. He picked up dishes containing actually recognisable deep-fried prawns and okonomiyaki and snaffled a sly prawn on his way back from the table. It tasted like a little bit of heaven.

Fubuki smiled as he saw Manjoume trying to crunch surreptitiously. "If you look in the refrigerator, I made cocktails."

Manjoume opened the door to two pitchers, one violently purple and one sunset orange, and some of their glasses had also been placed inside to cool. "What's in them?"

"Fruit juice and stuff." Fubuki gestured vaguely with a spoon. "Pour me a glass of Peace Peace, would you?"

"Which one's that?" Manjoume turned the pitchers around but couldn't find a label.

"The purple one." Fubuki pouted like it should have been obvious.

Manjoume obliged. Something glittery swirled in the dark liquid as he poured. "And the other one is…"

"Love Love, naturally." Fubuki tapped the excess off the serving spoon he'd used to dish up the curry and took his apron off before washing his hands.

"Very festive." Manjoume gave the two drinks a curious sniff. They were cloyingly sweet, and not at all suited to the menu Fubuki had prepared. Manjoume thought back to the tasty prawn and decided he was probably better off not risking insulting the chef before he'd polished off the rest.

Fubuki turned back around and cocked his head critically at Manjoume. "You'd better get dressed for the occasion."

"I am dressed?" Manjoume's eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to work out why Fubuki was looking at him like that. There was obviously something he was missing. Fubuki wasn't even dressed up himself, he just looked cosy and huggable in his warm jumper with the sleeves ruched up to the elbow. He couldn't remember Fubuki having worn that particular one before, though something in the navy and cream pattern seemed familiar. "Oh… Johan's gifts."

Fubuki gave him a thumbs up. "Go put it on before everything gets cold."

Manjoume nodded and hurried to his room. He was pretty sure the jumper was at the back of a drawer somewhere, it having been spring when he received it and also not close enough to his style to make it into his regular clothing rotation, but which drawer was a mystery. He ended up pulling out the lot and combing through the contents on his bed before finding it wedged sadly underneath. He shook it out and, satisfied that the level of dust was minimal, pulled it on over a t shirt. He found a mirror and combed his fingers through his hair for good measure. The competing pressure of cooling food soon won out over the wish to look somehow attractive in the bulky knit and he headed back to the dinner table.

"There, now we match." Fubuki greeted him with a cocktail glass in each hand, Fubuki's own purple one and an orange one which he extended towards Manjoume with a shining smile. "Manjoume Jun, won't you please accept my Love Love?"

"You're a Master of Puns now too, are you?" Manjoume looked down as he took the glass to conceal a slight flush.

"I'm a prince of many names," said Fubuki graciously. "Cheers."

"Cheers." Manjoume took a brave sip. The sweet juices – he could detect definitely orange, maybe something cherry-like – helped to mask the taste of the alcohol, but the drink definitely packed a punch. His stomach growled, seeking something more substantial. "Thank you for cooking. The food smells delicious."

"Then let's eat!" Fubuki winked as he set his cocktail down on the table to pull out Manjoume's chair for him. "Bon appetit!"

Manjoume helped himself to the various dishes crammed haphazardly on the table, and watched Fubuki do likewise. Fubuki's eyes were wide and dark in the candlelight, his features highlighted warmly. Manjoume guessed his own hair was probably casting deep shadows over his face, the candlelight doing him few favours in comparison. He self-consciously brushed it out of his eyes with his fingers.

He waited for Fubuki to take the first bite, then set chopsticks to bowl with a speed remembered from dormitory days. But there were no interlopers here to steal his food, or Fubuki's attention. He allowed himself to slow down and taste the meal. Fubuki watched him, pleased at the reception his cooking had received.

"I wanted to book a table at a buffet restaurant," said Fubuki, "but they were all busy. So I thought I'd try to bring the buffet to us."

"This is better," said Manjoume with sincerity. It was quieter, less subject to invasion by the press or fans. And if he dared to think of the concept as romantic, well, that was Fubuki's natural influence.

"You really think so?" Fubuki beamed. "I've wanted to do this for a while, but you're not usually home for dinner, and it never tastes the same reheated."

"When did you learn to cook?" Manjoume looked up at Fubuki. A flicker of candlelight sent shadows playing across his face.

"At home. I cooked for Asuka quite often." Fubuki helped himself to a little more rice and curry, purposefully ignoring the prawns which Manjoume was demolishing. "Our parents often worked late, or out of town, so I taught myself to make things she'd like."

Manjoume nodded, momentarily at a loss. He'd been envious of Fubuki and Asuka's close relationship since Academia days, and to find that it might have been born in part out of a shared loneliness was a difficult adjustment. "Maybe you should invite her over for dinner, next time she's back in the country."

"You'd like to see Asuka by candlelight, would you?" Fubuki smiled wanly.

"That's not what I – I mean, yes, but – that's not the point." Manjoume resumed shoving food around his bowl in a futile effort to diffuse the awkwardness he felt. "You miss her, right?"

"I do." Fubuki looked down.

Manjoume nudged Fubuki's foot under the table. He shifted out of the way, and Manjoume slid his foot back into contact. "I won't let you be lonely."

Fubuki smiled and reached across the table to cover Manjoume's hand with his own. "I appreciate that, Manjoume-kun."

Manjoume snatched his hand back under the pretence of tilting his bowl to better get at the last grains of rice.

* * *

Manjoume slumped back on the couch. He tried to pull his stomach in, but the volume of food it now contained impeded any effort to return to its former trim state. "Thanks for the food."

"My pleasure." Fubuki sighed as he wilted to the side, his head gently resting against Manjoume's shoulder, his third glass of cocktail clutched tight. "It's been a good evening."

Manjoume leant over, slowly to avoid Fubuki breaking contact and sitting up straight, and pulled an immaculately wrapped box out from under the sofa. "Merry Christmas, Master."

"Oh!" Fubuki's eyes widened. "I got something for you, too." He stood, to Manjoume's chagrin, and sauntered into his room, returning with a box whose shiny wrapping sparkled in the candlelight. He knelt to present it to Manjoume, then settled himself on the floor between Manjoume's legs to open his own gift. Manjoume tried to ignore the tempting intimacy of the position and focus on watching Fubuki unwrap his gift.

Fubuki pulled the scarf from the box with an ooh of excitement. It was burgundy, shot through with antique gold. He pulled it across his hand to view the pattern and felt the soft rasp of silk. "Thank you, Manjoume-kun. I love it."

"Really?" Manjoume fidgeted. He wanted to move his legs, but he also didn't, and the conflict was being fought under his skin. "I wasn't sure if you'd like the colours, they're a bit more muted than your usual."

"A man likes to have options!" Fubuki twisted round to beam at Manjoume.

Manjoume turned his attention to the small package in his hands rather than Fubuki's face at that height. He fumbled the wrapping off indelicately. The box held a small black leather wallet, embossed with a lightning bolt.

"Do you like it?" Fubuki rested an arm on Manjoume's thigh, which didn't help at all.

Manjoume made a strangled noise, then realised he should probably translate that into Japanese before Fubuki thought he hated the gift. "It's really cool, thanks."

"I thought you needed a new one. You know, for Euros."

"That's a good idea." Manjoume flipped the wallet open. A polaroid selfie of Fubuki peered seductively through the clear window inside. Etiquette had no answer for that situation and he folded it shut again, wondering if he would offend Fubuki greatly if he removed it, or at least turned it around. Not that he minded the picture – he had spent many an idle moment perusing Fubuki's social media – but if someone saw it, it would be embarrassing to have to explain. What if Fubuki's crush saw it?

"What happened with that person you liked, anyway?" Manjoume put the wallet to one side so that he could pick up his purple drink and sip it to feign disinterest.

"Nothing," Fubuki sighed and dropped his head onto Manjoume's knee.

"He doesn't like you?" Manjoume dared to put a hand on Fubuki's head in sympathy.

"I don't know," said Fubuki. "Sometimes I wonder if he might, but I'm scared."

"Scared? You? What of?"

"I don't know," Fubuki wriggled a little to get more comfortable. "Scared he doesn't like me enough. Scared he does, too. Like… things are good, and what if they change and it's worse. What if my fanclub find out and hound him. What if it doesn't last and I lose him completely."

Manjoume kept quiet, and stroked Fubuki's thick hair.

"It's not right, falling in love with a friend. Love is supposed to be Cupid's arrow striking swiftly, at first sight, knowing exactly how you feel. Like you and Asuka."

"I don't think love is supposed to be anything," said Manjoume, trying to draw Fubuki away from that line of enquiry. "Doesn't it depend on the people involved?"

"You've a romantic soul, Manjoume-kun," mumbled Fubuki into Manjoume's knee. "But with me, there's too much to lose. I can't claim my love."

"You're being stupid," said Manjoume, tugging gently on Fubuki's ear. "You deserve to be loved as much as anyone else."

"Even if that's true," Fubuki's tone of voice indicated that he thought it wasn't, "there's still the issue of whether or not he likes me that much."

"You won't know unless you ask him," said Manjoume, "or get someone else to. If you tell me who it is, I could try." It wasn't a role that he would relish, but seeing Fubuki like that sent pangs through his heart.

"No!" Fubuki jolted up, then patted Manjoume's knee in apology. "I mean, I'd rather you didn't know yet."

"Oh." Manjoume looked away. "Okay. Well, your love sounds like it's very rare and special, and I'm sure you'll find someone who appreciates you for it one day."

"That's sweet," Fubuki sighed. "I hope so."

Manjoume held out his arms tentatively, and Fubuki gratefully accepted the hug. "You could do with some fresh air. Let's go out and see the Christmas lights."

"Will you hold my hand?" said Fubuki with a wink.

"I might let you put your arm around me, if you behave," said Manjoume haughtily, a faint blush tinging his cheeks.


End file.
